


Kicking

by TwistedNym



Series: Tribulation [8]
Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-29
Updated: 2018-04-29
Packaged: 2019-04-29 16:17:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14476458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedNym/pseuds/TwistedNym
Summary: Maybe it's just the way things go. Sometimes you find something you can't leave alone. And it isn't what you ever expected. But it's the only one you have. So you hold on tight until the end of the ride. You bite your lips and let the world rush by. You let the thoughts wander and the hurt knocks again.





	Kicking

It's the last days of summer and as fast as it gets colder outside as fast it gets colder inside Thomas.

He's been waiting for this day a while. He half expects that waiting is in vain again.

This time he won't leave a hint of a promise.

It is a little like roulette to find out which Maven will come to talk.

It could be the anxious one, slowly loosing his grip on reality and trying to hold onto Thomas with everything he got, making them do things they regret and can't forget.

It could be stone cold Maven with the blank face, snapping and hiding, not able to remotely show if he understands the impact his actions have.

Maybe he's just going to mock Thomas, or he just tries to lie again.

He always lies. Even when he is honest.

And now he has even taking up Thomas master skills of avoiding and disappearing and moved them to another otherworldly level.

He's ushered his sister away under false pretences. He almost feels guilty.

"Move it, got a date. You need to leave."

"Oh no." His sister says. "If this is about  _you know who_ people will rip you apart, Tommy."

"Yeah, no worries, it's something else. "He shrugs and looks at something behind her ear so he doesn't have to lie directly in her face. "Thomas is a free elf now."

In truth, Thomas is the most unfree creature there ever was. He's overthinking everything.

Thomas was sure he'd punch Maven straight in the face. Or kiss him and never let go. Maybe both. The good old kiss slappery-doo.

All he does is exhale a nervous dry chuckle when he sees his face in front of the door.

He sees the eyes wander over him, without betraying anything.

Like he didn't expect they'd play this game again.

The blue eyes stop at the flames curling down Thomas fingers, grapping the doorframe with force.

From the rundown clothes and Thomas bare feet, toes twitching to Maven's new shoes and the dark coat he's hiding his hunched shoulders in. There's still traces of the boy Thomas left behind but they are small and it seems whatever is happening with Maven is swallowing those too.

_Look who's even more fancy and less geeky, all dressed up._

The difference between their appearance is mocking and blatantly obvious, almost offensive. He still can't stop the artist and the weak heart of the street rat to take in every bit, eyes wandering.

They stare at each other like strangers in the dark, trying to find out the intention of that shadow walking behind one.

"I have been expecting you," Thomas says in the pale imitation of a moustache twirling villain. He's doing it again. Coping with fun. And bad puns.

Not the first bad pattern one of them repeats.

The second bad step follows like a thief stealing through the night, because his body just isn't fast enough to move out of the way and they brush. Thomas body thinks of the way this ended the last time, and boy, it's doing the wrong things to his poor head.

Wait, his brain says, wait wait, that is NOT talking. That is sending the wrong signals, dude, cut it.

Psssht, Thomas racing pulse tells him off, let it go. Who needs talking anyway.

Lucky enough the bad call ends before it begins because they both flinch back and Thomas moves, deciding this is it.

Talking is never their strong suit. Something between them makes it impossible to have a serious and long lasting discussion. It ends in silence or fighting. Or at least it used to. Thomas tells himself he's grown up enough to pretend to be an adult.

"I am glad you agreed to meet me."

Thomas crosses his legs and leans over the old scratched wood, trying to take in every twitching muscle in Maven's face, to sniff out the lies if they come.

"Would have met you weeks ago but you ducked." He's surprised he's sounding not as hurt as he feels. Only a little hard.

"I was," Maven answers, folding his hands. "Out of balance. As that voicemail should prove. That was ill advised. As was that...night I spent here."

"And here I hoped you'd finally put a ring on my finger." Thomas shakes his head, hair falling in his eyes. "I agree tho. Wasn't doing any good to us both. But when you came here you told me you had made a mistake. So don't pin it on me being there."

"I am not  _blaming_  anything on you, Thomas." The way he says it is almost diplomatic. Rational. "In fact, I consider you the only remotely trustworthy person around me at the moment. And I meant it when I said you don't deserve a bad treatment when you were good to me. You cannot imagine how much I appreciate your willingness to listen."

Oh, flattery, Thomas thinks, nice. Too bad my self inflicted hatred forbids to take too much of it. "And whose fault is it people turn away?"

Maven looks like he just bit a particular sour lemon, pressing his lips together.

"I meant what I said too." Thomas leans on his arm. "I love you. But you disappointed me. And you shit on people that trusted you. You shit on a person you claimed to be in love with."

And you shit on me too, he thinks, not saying it. Because that has no place in all this. That's personal. And the worst of all, leaving each other is very mutual by now.

"I said everything about her you need to know."

Thomas knits his brows but doesn't disagree, leaning only further on his arm, covering his mouth with his hand.

_My brother always got everything._

There was spite in the way Maven said that. And Thomas has spent enough time with him to remember that despite all the attempts and the care and the way the brothers acted, there's something else on Maven's side too.

True, there is something real, because that look in the cinema wasn't fake or planned and the way he bristled under Thomas accusations was too.

Maybe that's just part of what it is. Of the whole world. One bit desperation, a little jealousy, sprinkled with truth.

"But it's true, yeah? You messed up knowing it would turn bad for her and my friends."

"You're an artist, Thomas." Maven's blue eyes seem to see through Thomas for a moment before he lowers his gaze, unfolding his hands and resting them on the scratched table, palms down. First strike, Thomas thinks. That's the master maneuvers he knows. "When you paint or draw, is there one substantial truth or do people see the things they want?"

"Fancy words." Thomas bites his lip hard, concentrating high. He takes his head off his hand and lets his arms fall on the table. The wood is cold. It's cooling his skin through the faded sleeves of his jacket. "Bit iffy tho. I draw things the way I want. I got intentions."

"Intentions," something bitter curls around Maven's lips.

"Yeah, pretty boy, intentions. Reasons. Call it what you want. Just offer anything."

"My interest was in leaving an impression."

"You did. With a bang. "

"I did not think it would turn that bad. The whole tower was on fire suddenly. It wasn't my idea. You have to believe me, Thomas." Thomas almost flinches when Maven's hand wanders over the table and crushes Thomas fingers between his own.

"Let's say I do." Thomas answers and tries to ease the grip a bit. "Let's say I believe you did it because you and your mother have this thing. Your family is a mess, dude, but you know it."

"You don't know anything about my mother. Or what she is capable of."

Thomas doesn't say anything and just feels the finger holding onto him, cradling the flames on his skin. Unlike the brushing bodies on the doorstep he doesn't feel anything under the fingertips.

They are just two broken things in a sea of trash and shattered glass. It was the resemblance to his own insecurity that made Thomas try and get to know him and now it's just the same. Two stones sinking, two tiny pieces of something. If the universe has a punchline prepared, it hasn't showed it yet. If there's a joke, Thomas cannot find it.

Maybe it's just the way things go. Sometimes you find something you can't leave alone. And it isn't what you ever expected. But it's the only one you have. So you hold on tight until the end of the ride. You bite your lips and let the world rush by. You let the thoughts wander and the hurt knocks again.

It burns too bright and moves too fast, like the rest of the world.

It's not like he expected the world to come around. He knew it would end badly when he crashed into Maven and could not stop thinking about him that summer day the red van got him from the parking lot.

He wanted to think there was a blackmail or a misunderstanding.

But now that he looks into this face he sees the truth. Yes, the boy is broken and messed up.

Yes, his mother is a stone cold bitch.

Maybe he was pressured. He was hurt. Yes, Thomas did his part in it.

But still. Still there isn't a suitable excuse to make.

And who'd want to make more excuses than Thomas, defender of the villains, as Maven titled mocking once? Not for this, though.

"Just one thing I really need to know," he asks. Thomas pulls his hand back, out of the grip ,the fingers brushing over the flames. "And whatever you say, pretty boy, be honest. _Please._ "

Thomas waits until he's sure he has Maven's fullest attention and at least one little gaze up in his face.

"You sorry?"

He seemed prepared for that question. At least there's nothing in his pale face suggesting surprise. Instead Thomas sees the fingers on the table clasp together again and the lips are forming a thin line again.

"I admitted I made a mistake. And things...went off the tracks."

That's not regret. Thomas thinks. If he wasn't disappointed and hurt already he'd probably feel something stronger than the weak letdown he's experiencing.

"Still went through with it when you left." Thomas shrugs. "You let them in. You didn't warn anyone. You leaned back and enjoyed the show."

"I know what I did and didn't do, Thomas. No need to recount. That night before the party I came here because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Thomas huffs.

"I thought what you would say when everything goes down." There's something wondering in Maven's voice. " And I needed to say it, at least tell you about it. You were my conscience, Thomas."

"I must be a shitty conscience when you still go through with it." Thomas mutters. "And you shouldn't need another person to know that what you did was wrong. I am not your fix, Mave. I never was and I CAN'T."

Because love can't fix a person's head, Thomas thinks. However hard you try. Or want to.

"I know I never could reciprocate your feelings the way you insisted." Maven looks lost in the topic.

"This is NOT about me. I'm not your magical wand solving problems. " Thomas snorts. "This is about you getting over thinking accepting help is weakness. This is about Barrow whooping your ass. And Farley, for that matter. Face it, pretty boy, it's getting worse if it stays this way."

There's silence between them and Maven stares at Thomas like he lost his mind completely.

"I am not handing myself over." If he means Barrow or himself accepting any kind of treatment, Thomas can't say. It's a simple cold refusal.

"Then don't." Thomas shrugs. He feels too calm. This isn't like he thought this would be. "But don't come to my doorstep at night ever again. I have enough problems without you, Mave."

That's it, that's the last call. Things went wrong so much. There was no easy reconnection to begin with. And they both went through too much to handle it. There were bad habits and unhealthy moments, unstable and dangerous. And the whole thing is crushing now. It's falling like a house of cards.

There's nothing much left to say. Maven gets up. Takes his coat. Thomas gets up. Doesn't know where to look.

They move through the tiny floor like rabbits chasing through a tunnel.

"Not too late to change your mind, pretty boy." Thomas says, gripping the doorframe the second time this night. "Think it through. Got the smarts. Use them."

"Didn't you say you didn't want to be my conscience?" the voice is blank but underneath lurks something else and it makes Thomas toenails curl. It's angry and snapping.

"I'm not saying anything because I wanna get high and mighty." For a second he just wants to collapse on the doorstep, because he's tired of it all. " I say it cause I want you in my life. But I can't if you don't do something."

"Goodbye Thomas."

He turns on his heels and leaves without waiting for Thomas to answer.

He doesn't make up his mind. Maybe he doesn't want to. Maybe Thomas mistook the small grains of empathy and emotional exposure. The only thing he knows for sure is that he's not standing on his doorstep in the middle of the night. That's equally good as it is bad.

It's still tiresome. One week feels like a year. Thomas doesn't leave his cozy spot on his bed much. He doesn't even bother to shower. People have to pry him from the laptop. He spends too many hours awake and drawing, too many times in chats and discussions. He looks at too many pictures of Maven and he sees Barrows face all over the place. The girl is becoming the poster picture of rebellion. Suits her. But must suck. No wonder she's nowhere to be found in his circles.

Someone says she's got beef up the hills and he can only imagine a very out of his mind boy is burning bridges once and for all.

It's creepy how many people have too much time and no borders. Thomas is glad once more to be a bystander on the side lines. Because the only pictures people snap of him are his works and not his face.

At the end of the week Thomas decides it's time to face it. That he will never see Maven again, and that's for the best. They ditch each other all the time only to come back and maybe there's no healthy way to stay together.

That's when the news are spitting and people get crazy over again. It sets the balance off even more.

He looks at the headline and feels a pang of very curious sympathy.

Maven's father has died.

When he finally decides to leave his spot on the bed and calls someone in the middle of the night, it's not Maven.

The concrete walls are the same as the day Thomas left them, shivering dead and cold, wandering through the snow. Now there's only a small cold breeze creeping under his hood and lying on the fluttering fabric of his dark scarf.

Her figure moves fast and is barely visible in the darkness.

"Hey lightning girl." Thomas says, pulling on the fabric of his hood before leaning towards the railing and watching her climb up. "That's what they call you this day, isn't it?"

There's something grim dark in her eyes. Wow, he thinks, great job, pissing her off before you even had a chance to talk to her. "And what do they call you?"

"Idiot mostly." He extends his hands and she grabs it. He pulls her up the latter. "Thought I'd see you with a squad or shit. Not safe all alone."

"Bringing a squad would send you running." Her eyes are darting around the skeleton roof. As if she is sure he has brought someone else. As if he'd ever even be able to keep a straight face for a trap.

"Oh, know me so well." He snorts. His eyes dart down the roof, listening for any suspicious sound. She's right not to trust this place or anything in this city. "Let's keep it short, yeah? We're on the same side."

Her eyes are resting on the flames and he thinks it may have not been the best idea ever to have THAT late night session. It's as if everyone remotely familiar with his history knows exactly the intention behind it.

"Are we?"

"Yeah, Guard and all, y'know." He shrugs. "I'm not as cool and my only good fighting quality is taking a few hits. Nose is ugly enough no one really cares it has been broken. Still."

They look at each other for a moment, cool wind brushing through hair.

"I just...I know how it is with that boy. He can leave a mark." Thomas blows out a stream of air. "Tough getting out of something like that. At least one of us should."

At the mention of Maven something in her face drastically changes. Like every bit of positive feeling has been drained out of her veins. It's not the aggressive sneering he knows from Cameron's everyday display but something deeper. It's deep rooted and it hurts.

"I knew this was about him." She says.

He sighs. "Yeah, sorry. But would you have made it if I told you?"

The answer is obviously in her face and the drawn back shoulders.

"Just wanted to offer, you talk it out, ok? Tell me so you don't bottle it up."

"You were always a nice guy, Thomas. A little weird, but the good way." She says. "But I don't need to talk anything out."

He draws his eyebrows together. "Sure?"

They aren't particularly cuddly towards each other. They never were. And Thomas isn't stupid enough to take the blame for Maven's shit. If someone told him he's responsible he'd do the Cameron and flip them off.

He still feels he owes Barrow. Some part of him wants this all to end good. And she's doing this because she wants a better thing.

He's fine with waiting for any kind of answer.

She bristles. "I spit in his face the last time we met." The words are like the angry spitting themselves.

Despite the serious situation Thomas puffs out a chuckle in disbelief. "I knew you can get ugly. Really? Spitting. Wow."

They share a long moment of silence in the wind, hair fluttering, fabric rustling.

"What about you?"

" Nah, Lightning," he smiles at her, a little lost in hazy memories. "I'm in too deep. Like, forever stuck." He leans against the metal bar beside her and she lets him. "He was cute when we met. I mean, he had problems, sure, he kept it together. Didn't think he'd snap like this."

She looks at him as if he just popped up dressed like a clown. A little irritated and definitely wondering what's up with it, because no one, frankly put, NO ONE likes clowns. (They are an overused scary stereotype and not funny. And sometimes they are straight up weird. Mimes are fine though. Mostly.)

"Shit is fucked up." He ends and doesn't try to apologize for something he has no clue about.

She looks tired for a moment. She still keeps her head high. "Very fucked up."

"Keep on kicking." He forces himself to smile again.


End file.
